


Drawing Pictures

by coal15



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, M/M, Tension, There will be fluff, UST, and cuddles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:31:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coal15/pseuds/coal15
Summary: This first chapter is mostly Buck and Eddie arguing about Eddie's streetfighting habit, but it is going somewhere sweet and fluffy.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 25
Kudos: 220





	1. Chapter 1

_Why? _Buck wondered when he woke up at Stupid o' Clock in the pre-sunrise morning for no reason.

"Nope," he whispered, simultaneously pulling bunched up covers over his head and squirming to roll over. "Evan Buckley is sleeping the hell in." But a split second before he could settle and close his eyes again, he noticed something through a slight gap in his cozy blanket-burrito. A soft glow.

_Downstairs bathroom light, dumbass. You left it on again. Electric bill . . . you pay for that . . . _A few hours later in the morning and he might have cared enough to trudge all the way downstairs to flip the switch, buuuuut . . . _It's just a few extra pennies, screw it. Goodnight world._

Barely a few minutes into an adventure involving himself, his dad, an old-timey riverboat, and a little green pig in a trenchcoat, a weird noise jarred him back to the waking world. Normally he would've just chalked it up to one of those random sounds you hear at night when everything else is quiet.

A settling floorboard. Thing hitting a window. An angry ghost. _Whatever. _But added to the bathroom light thing it was just worrisome enough to require investigation.

"Stupid," Buck grumbled under his breath as he zombie-shuffled down the stairs, annoyed and groggy. "Stupid, stupid . . ." He was kinda lowkey _hoping _for an intruder so then at least it would be worth the annoyance.

Before he even reached the middle of the staircase Buck could tell there actually _was _someone rustling around in his bathroom.

_What kinda weirdo loots a place and starts in the BATHROOM?_ He wondered. _And do I go for a kitchen knife first, or just barge in there and throw a punch? My cellphone is upstairs, so that's-_

"_Dammit!" _A male voice hissed.

_Huh?_

"Eddie? Eddie, what the hell?"

"Uuuuuuuuuh . . ."

All Buck could see of his friend as he moved closer to the bathroom door was a slumped shoulder and the back of a dark-haired head.

"I, I'm sorry," Eddie finally spoke up, barely loud enough to be heard. "I meant to just pop in and out real quick."

"What's up, you got a clogged toilet?" Buck tried to joke. "And the answer is driving all the way to my place?"

His friend didn't laugh. Not even a chuckle.

Buck waited.

Nothing but awkward shuffling and quiet stammering. A few times Eddie turned _almost_ enough for Buck to see his face, but not quite.

"Seriously dude, what's wrong? . . . Eddie, you gotta talk to me."

"I didn't wanna go to an ER," his friend mumbled, sounding tired and defeated. "And I remembered you had a suture kit here. Or . . . I _thought _you did."

_ER? Sutures? _By then Buck had moved close enough to nudge the door open, but Eddie beat him to it. _Oh my god!_

His friend's right eye was obscured behind a terrific swell of black and blue, and a similar dark puff shone on the left side of his face just below the cheekbone. A smear of dried blood from his nose looked like half a mustache, and several trickles of bright red shone from open cuts.

"Jesus!" Buck gasped, immediately sprinting to the nearest lightswitch.

And there stood Eddie squinting in the light. Slumped, silent, and pummeled to hell.

Despite the shock, Buck wasn't confused. He didn't wonder even for a second how Eddie had managed to come by this spectacular collection of injuries. "You're still going to those stupidass fights." A slow anger prickled its way down Buck's spine and through his body. "Aren't you?!" He barked a little louder than he'd intended.

Eddie flinched and his one good eye glanced all around the room, pausing anywhere except Buck's face.

"You keep saying you're done with it, man," Buck half-whined. "You keep _saying,_ and then . . . Christ, Eddie, it's dangerous!"

"Not _that dangerous_," The other man insisted, somewhat ruffled. "I've never lost this bad before, have I? No. I walk away with a few bumps and bruises and that's it." Eddie shrugged. "Nothing I can't just blame on a rough day at work in case-"

"In case Christopher asks?!" Buck finished. "Which I am sure he has!"

"Look I just ne-" Eddie stopped, wincing as pain shot through his jaw.

"Need an outlet?!" Buck snapped, again louder than he intended. "For what?!I don't get it man, what are you still_ so pissed_ about?!"

No reply.

"I know you were super angry when I sued the department, and about how we couldn't hang out and all that." Buck heaved a ragged sigh and shook his head. "But it's been over a month since then, and I've apologized for hurting you and Chris like a _million times! _So what the hell is it, huh? What's keeping you so damn raged out that you gotta go kick some rando's ass every week?"

"It, it's . . ." Eddie's good eye met Buck's for a quick second before darting away again. "It's hard to explain."

A big part of Buck wanted nothing more than to yell at the top of his lungs. _Just bottle it up for now, _he told himself. _Let's get him patched up, you can tear him a new one later._

"You mentioned needing a suture kit. What for?" Sure, his friend's injuries looked bad, but from what Buck could tell all they needed was cotton balls, disinfectant, gauze pads, an ice pack, and a hefty dose of painkiller.

"Th-the sut-sutures . . ." Eddie stammered, sliding closer to Buck. "They're, um . . . for this." He turned sideways and raised his arm enough to reveal a horizontal gash in his shirt. About six inches long.

And just that fast, Buck uncorked the bottle and let anger rush out. "You _idiot!"_

"Buck-"

"Knife fights?" He bellowed. "We've graduated to _KNIVES now?!" _He realized it wasn't the right time to yell or lecture, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Not from Eddie.

Not the guy he knew.

His _responsible _Eddie.

"It was _NOT _a knife fight!" Eddie shot back, powering through the pain as it shot through every muscle in his damaged face. "There are strict rules against using anything but fists and feet, but this _one punk _broke the rules! Okay? Just one dumbass broke a rule, that's all!"

"Oh, of course," Buck scoffed and threw up his hands before crossing them tight across his chest. "One guy just broke a little rule, just this once, but everything else is-yeah, y'know, sure, you're fine, it's all _totally fine!"_

"I didn't say it was _fiiiiiiiiine," _Eddie drew out the word. "But . . . look, it wasn't even like a real 'knife' knife. Just a dumb little pocket thing."

_Is. He. Serious?! _"A DUMB LITTLE POCKETKNIFE IN THE RIGHT PLACE CAN STILL KILL YOU, EDDIE! YOU KNOW THIS!" Buck was too pissed off at that point to care about disturbing his neighbors. _Whatever, if we wake anyone up I'll bake 'em apology muffins or something._

Eddie shuffled on his feet, seeming to wilt beneath his friend's criticism. "Okay, y-yeah, I know, but I mean . . . as far as knife wounds go . . ." He tried to form an expression of conciliatory reassurance as he pushed open the sliced fabric enough to provide Buck a clearer view of the wound. "This one's no big deal, see? Barely even deep enough to need stitches."

"Oh my _gooooood,"_ Buck groaned through clenched teeth, eyes shut tight as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you _trying _to miss the point right now? Seriously, is that what's happening?"

Eddie opened his mouth to reply, but Buck cut him off.

"Y'know what? Nevermind, we can fight about this later. Go sit." He pointed to the dining table and went to fetch his first aid and suture kits from the bathroom.

Eddie did as he was told, sliding onto the table and resting his feet in a chair. "Sorry I woke you up," he said quietly, trying and failing to catch his friend's gaze as the man arranged patch-up supplies next to him.

"Great," was Buck's terse reply. "Is that all?"

"I am _truly _sorry." Eddie repeated. "Dude, I don't want you to worry about me. " he tilted his head to the side while Buck dabbed carefully around each cut with a damp cotton ball. "Look, I'll ease back on the streetfight clubs okay?" At this point Eddie was blatantly pleading. ". . . Okay Buck?"

Buck huffed, eyes firmly riveted on his work. "Club-_s. _Plural. That's just. Awesome."

Eddie knew at that point there was nothing he could say to make his friend less angry, so he just kept his mouth shut and let the man work.

"Actually," Buck sighed after a long silence, "This might be a little bit on me. I coulda made a bigger deal about this crap weeks ago. Before you were in so deep."

"What d'you mean?" Eddie frowned.

"I mean I should've put my foot down."

"Excuse me?" Eddie swatted Buck's hand away from his face, knocking a half unwrapped bandaid to the floor. "Put your foot down? What, like_ grounding me?_ Taking away my car keys? You're not my Dad, Buck!"

"That's right Eddie, I'm nobody's Dad. You are, though." The words were quiet, but Buck's voice quaked with disappointment. "You gotta know how bad it would scare Christopher to see you like this. And how much worse you coulda been stabbed." he clenched his jaw, struggling to hold his emotions in check, "And that scares _me."_

Eddie bowed his head, silent and defeated.

"What the hell is it you're venting, man?" Buck continued to push. "I mean, _exactly? _What? What has you angry enough to risk-"

"It's me." Eddie cut him off.

_What? _It was the last thing Buck expected him to say.

"I'm mad at myself. That lawsuit of yours was just . . . it was . . . I mean, _Jesus, _Buck, Christopher asked me over and over and over again if we could _please _go see you, or invite you to hang out someplace. And yeah, I could've arranged for a playdate or whatever. Had Carla take him to a park or something to meet you-"

"Yeah, why didn't that happen?" Buck frowned, feeling less pissed but more puzzled.

"Would've made sense, right?" Eddie asked rhetorically. "Spared my kid a lotta stress and confusion. But it freaked me out the way he . . . I mean, how much . . ."

It seemed to Buck as though Eddie was trying to make sense of his own words even as they left his mouth.

_Just keep listening._

" . . . how . . . okay, like that day in the grocery store when we fought, and you said it didn't occur to you how the lawsuit would affect Christopher?"

"Mmhm," Buck nodded.

"Yeah, well . . ." Eddie drew a deep, nervous breath, sweaty hands fidgeting in his lap. "So at first I was like . . . _crazy pissed _at you for not thinking of him first and foremost, just automatically, y'know? Before anything else. Fullstop."

_Okaaaaaay . . ._

"But after I calmed down a little I realized . . . what I'd done. Wh-what I've _been doing . . . _probably for a while."

"Which is?"

". . . Expecting you to think like a Dad."

Every gear in Buck's brain stopped spinning and he honestly couldn't think of what to say. "Oh." was all he could manage.

"Yeah." Eddie shifted his weight around as if there was some correct way to arrange himself in that moment and he wasn't quite getting it right. "When I got home that day I walked around the house and looked at all the drawing taped up on his bedroom wall, and on our fridge, and the stacks around the house-you know how kids love to doodle-"

_Especially Christopher, _Buck thought with a tiny smile.

" And the thing is . . . I noticed-like for the _first time _I noticed how so, so, _so many _of his drawings are of the three of us. Doing whatever. Even impossible stuff like us on the moon, or fighting dinosaurs. And that's . . ." Eddie trailed off.

"That's what?" Buck prodded.

"That's when I realized how bad I messed up. The kid knows all my work friends, and he likes 'em, but he's _so attached_ to you that if you ever went away? For whatever reason? He'd feel . . . not just sad, Buck. He'd feel _abandoned._ It'd be like another parent walked out. Again."

"I guess I'm too damn likable," Buck shrugged, trying to lighten the mood with a little humor. "How is that your fault?" Eddie's good eye fixed on his, and he knew right away it was the wrong time for jokes.

Eddie, meanwhile, was actually grateful for the shallow gash in his side. Something to sting worse than the swell of guilt. "You don't get it, Buck," he sighed. "Kids that age take their cues from their parents, okay? I could point to anyone and tell him 'that's a good guy,' or 'that's a bad guy,' and he'd trust me. React accordingly."

"Okaaaaaay," Buck drawled, "I'm still not-"

"I've always been _so careful _about this stuff! Y'know, letting him think someone's just _there _there. Like in a 'not ever leaving us' way_. _But with you I just . . . Buck, the way I react whenever he talks about us? Like about a time we hung out, or are gonna hang out, or when he shows me some drawing and tells me the fun little story behind it . . ." the man's voice went so quiet, Buck had to lean in close just to hear clearly. "He thinks you're basically another freakin' Dad 'cause I let him go there. It's my fault."

"Eddie-"

"No!" The bruised and battered man cut him off, voice returning to normal volume. "No, factoring a kid into every single life decision is _not _something you asked for. It's not your job, and it was _totally unreasonable _for me to expect it! So . . . there it is. I'm sorry. I'm pissed at myself, and I'm sorry. And I wish I could figure out how to fix things for my kid."

Buck tried to sort through his feelings about everything Eddie had just said. He did _adore _Christopher, but still. A little kid counting on him _that much? _Like a full-on Dad?

_. . . It's a lot to take in._

"I believe you," the words caught in Buck's throat as he spoke. "That you're sorry, I mean."

"Thanks," Eddie whispered, allowing Buck to guide him down on the table and cut open the side of his shirt. He moved around to find a comfortable-ish position to settle into while his friend peeled away bits of fabric still clinging to the sticky wound.

Buck inspected the wound carefully as he dabbed away half-dried blood. "This top inch or so of the cut is pretty shallow, but the rest is definitely stitch-worthy."

"Thanks again, man." Eddie gave a feeble half-grin as Buck administered a topical lidocaine swab. "And don't worry about Chris. We can-_I can-" _he quickly corrected himself. _"I _will figure out how to handle that whole deal. Y'know, dial back his expectations. I'm on it. I promise."

"Yeah," Buck nodded slowly. "Okay, great. That's . . ." _Shouldn't I feel relieved right now? _Instead Eddie's promise left him feeling deflated. Let down somehow. "A_hem,"_ he cleared his throat, trying to recover from the strange moment. "So anyway, stitches?"

Despite all the injuries, Eddie's half-grin grew to something a bit more recognizably _him. _"Let's do stitches."

Buck went to work, and the whole procedure took place in a weird silence. As if whatever chit-chat they were supposed to be having was running late.

Until Buck shattered the lack of conversation with simple, quiet:

"I can handle the pressure." He didn't even realize he'd said the words out loud until he noticed Eddie's reaction. Raised eyebrow, rigid frame.

"What?"

Buck _almost _backpedaled the statement, but then decided in a blink to do a U-turn and go the other way. "I-I mean with Chris," he said. "Him counting on me? Y'know, assuming I'll be there? I don't mind, Eddie. Really . . . at all."

With his 'dumb little pocketknife' thing fully stitched up and everything else cleaned and bandaged, Eddie slid off the table. "Uh, wha . . ." he floundered around for words. "That's a lot," he croaked finally, trying not to feel foolish.

"Mmhm." Normally Buck could read Eddie's expressions and pretty much know what he was thinking, but now the man's current collection of black-and-blue injuries made it impossible. _Have I gone too far out on a limb? _He wondered. _Dammit, why can't I read minds?! _"Was that maybe a dumb thing for me to say?"

"Nah, it's fine," Eddie swooshed away his friend's concern with a breezy wave, all the while backing not-so-subtly in the general direction of the door. "You're around for good, for Chris, got it. Great. Um, yeah, good to know."

_Okay, he's gotta realize there's a bigger conversation here . . . _"Do you think we should ta-"

"Look, it's all good. Thanks again for the patch up, see ya at work in a few days, K?"

_Aaaaaaand he left. _Buck thought as the door clicked shut behind his fleeing friend.

He stood there for a while, bewildered and sleepy, wondering if he'd ever get the chance to restart their almost-talk. _Is there anything to talk about? Maybe not. Maybe yes. Maybe yes, but not now. Maybe wait for *him* bring it up first? Unless that's a bad idea. Is that a bad idea?_

Rather than let all the questions and variables drive him nuts, he turned off the lights, turned on the tv, and let the boring flicker of infomercials lull him back to sleep.

It turned out the old-timey riverboat was also a rocketship, and the little green pig could talk.

He sounded just like Christopher.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .


	2. Drawing Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Buck have an important conversation while surrounded by a bunch of dogs.

Eddie went into work _thinking _he was prepared to face Bobby's anger and disappointment. Fully braced and ready to take it.

He was wrong.

Private office. Door closed. "I'm putting you on Sabbatical."

"C'mon, Cap, you can't do that!"

"I can," Bobby returned firmly. "And I am. Three times, _three times _you've assured me you're done with streetfighting-an _illegal activity_, in case you've forgotten-and all three times you've gone running back to it. I'm sorry, but you're too volatile right now."

"So I'm benched 'cause I have issues?" asked Eddie, already seething bitterness. "Aren't you the one who told me it was okay to have issues? To struggle?"

"Your issues aren't the issue," Bobby replied, folding his hands on the desk. "It's your choice of outlet that's the problem."

Eddie crossed his arms and huffed while Bobby kept talking.

"Where you're at right now? I can't trust that a bad day at work won't be enough to send you over the edge and get yourself beaten to death in one of these streetfights. Or, god forbid, go so rage-blind you beat your opponent to death. I cannot be worrying about _your _mental state when we're out on a call."

"I'm not-"

"Take some time, Eddie. Maybe a week." Bobby spoke the words gently, but his tone was resolute. The cadence of a man who would not be swayed. "Maybe more, if you need. However long it takes to at least get started in the right direction."

Eddie rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Right direction? What, like meditate? Take up yoga?"

"Whatever works," his boss shrugged. "I don't care if you need meds and an emotional support gerbil to get better. I just need to see _something _that tells me you're committed to making changes. Progress . . ." Bobby paused, expecting the other man to speak up. ". . . Am I making sense here?" he prompted.

Eddie stared at the Captain, arms still crossed, tapping his heel on the ground in a frenetic rhythm.

"Eddie?"

"Fine, yeah," the upset man admitted. "You're making sense. I'll take a _sabbatical," _the obnoxious word made every muscle in his face twitch. "And um . . . figure out an . . . 'emotional maintenance strategy' that doesn't involve _this." _He drew an air-circle around his own bruised face.

"Fantastic," Bobby stood up with a proud, beaming smile and reached across the table for a handshake. "It is a big relief to hear you say that-and hey man, I can't wait to have you back. I mean it!"

Eddie knew he meant it. Bobby was nothing if not sincere.

He went home and told his kid a glossed over version of the truth. ("I'm taking a break to get in some more Family Time, kiddo!") More quality time with his family was definitely going to be _a part_ of the new plan, so it wasn't technically a lie.

He spent the bulk of his first Sabbatical Day playing with Christopher, and when Chris went back to school on Monday Eddie's first thought was going to the gym for a workout. But he knew the punching bag would start calling his name right away, and hitting stuff felt like the wrong way to go, given the circumstances.

So he opted for a jog around his and Christopher's favorite park.

Aside from being fairly close to their neighborhood, it was a great place on its own merit. A sprawling green area dotted with trees and picnic benches, a playground for kids, a dog park, even a skate park at the far west end, and a path around the whole giant circumference for joggers and bikers.

_Cardio without the aggression, _Eddie thought as he finished his third lap around the beautiful, soothing space. _Thaaaaaaaat's what I need . . ._

"Oh, hey!" Came a voice to his left, just beyond the fenced-in dog park.

_Buck?_

Eddie slowed down, panting, and approached the fence. "Heya, man. What brings you out here?"

"Dog sitting for a neighbor. She's outta town for a few days," Buck said with a casual shrug, "and this is hands down the best dog park in the city."

Eddie looked around at all the various doggie-play equipment. Stuff to jump over, stuff to climb, stuff to swat at, stuff to chew on. "Yeah, I guess if you're a dog this is the place to be."

Buck walked a few paces to the gate and held it open, careful not to let any canines make a run for it. "Mmhm. Plus we've taken Christopher to the playground enough times that I have the drive here memorized."

"Right." Eddie nodded. "Easy commute is always nice."

"Yup."

He and Buck had seen each other since the night Eddie broke into his bathroom, but only with coworkers or Christopher in the mix. Buck had invited him out for after work drinks or coffee a few times, but Eddie always turned him down.

"Gotta love an easy commute," Buck continued. "Not a whole lotta those in LA."

"True," Eddie toed the ground like an awkward teenager. "They are rare . . . so, um, this outta town neighbor . . . is she cute?"

"She's not _not cute." _Buck replied with a tiny grin.

_Okay, _Eddie thought to himself, _we've established chit-chat, let's keep this going._

"So is watching her dog just you being friendly, or is it like . . . an 'in'?" As soon as he asked the question, he knew it was a mistake. Buck's expression transformed into something between wistful and sad.

"Just a friend thing." The tone of his voice matched the look on his face.

"Well . . . I guess . . . " Eddie wracked his brain for something else to say. A change of subject.

_Ask about work!_

"Hey, how's everyone at the 118? Surviving okay without me?"

"We're getting by."

_He still sounds mopey. Fix it!_

"Getting by is good to, um . . . good to know." Eddie floundered, clearing his throat several times. "Well, I should probably get back to-"

"We'd be good together!" Buck said suddenly, a little louder than he'd intended to.

"_Buck!" _Eddie hissed through clenched teeth, eyes darting around wildly as if he feared the dogs might start spreading gossip.

"At least _I _think so," Buck continued, stepping closer to his friend. "And I think _you _think so too! Shouldn't we at least talk about it? At this point?"

Eddie stuffed his hands in his pockets, nodded to a nearby bench, and headed over, with Buck following at his side.

_How do I explain? . . . _he wondered as Buck sat patiently, waiting for him to speak. _How the hell do I explain this? _His conclusion on the issue of their relationship and the thought process leading to it was a strange and difficult one to articulate, especially to someone else.

"What's ironic here . . ." Eddie began slowly, already bracing himself for a confused and disappointed best friend, "What's _really _ironic is that if we'd started dating before Christopher ever met you-or at least before you were such a big part of his life-then yeah, we could've maybe worked out."

Buck frowned. "I don't get it. Your kids loves me so we _can't _date? How does that even make sense? I mean, shouldn't the fact that he and I get along so well be an _advantage _for us?"

Eddie drew one leg up on the bench and turned his body to face Buck straight on. "Because if we tried us _now_, and it didn't work out? Buck, he'd be crushed. I'd have _crushed _my child. I'm sorry." He shook his head. "It's just not something I can risk."

"B-but, I mean c'mon," Buck practically whined, scooting closer to Eddie, "how much of a risk would it really be? I love you."

_Why the HELL did you have to say that?_

His distraught friend kept talking. "And last week, when you hit rock bottom, _I'm _the place you ran to! Me. That has to mean something!"

"Yeah, it does mean something." Eddie's jaw tightened as he struggled to modulate his tone. To not get choked up, or sound as upset as he felt. "But making a relationship work in the long term takes a hell of a lot more than just being in love." He drew a deep, unsteady breath, and continued on. "And if it turned out we didn't have what it takes? Buck, I couldn't _stand _to go back to being just friends. Which means I'd pretty much have to step out of your life-and, y'know what? I'm a grown man, break ups happen, fine. But Christopher has already lost his mom. He's already suffered too much. So I can't risk a . . . 'let's just see where this goes' kind of thing when it comes to you. _Specifically _you."

Buck opened his mouth to say something, but Eddie beat him to it.

"I know this sucks, it sucks_ a lot,_ and I'm sorry, Buck, but there's just too much_ risk."_ He rose from the bench, cringing as he spoke. "Actually, even having this conversation isn't . . . look, we clearly need space, so I'll tell Christopher you're busy with, I dunno, something or other, and then we'll ease back into hanging out in uuuuummmm . . . a few weeks? Y'know, shake this off and move on. Okay?"

He looked down at Buck, who remained seated on the bench, and silently prayed that the man wouldn't keep pleading with him.

Buck leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees and fingers threaded together. "I guess . . . if you're really . . . sure . . . " he looked at Eddie with glassy, water-pooled eyes, and forced down the urge to keep pushing. "Yeah. Okay. I guess 'take some time and shake it off' is our . . . our best option."

"It is best, I promise." Eddie nodded, slowly turning to walk away. "And, uh . . . you should ask out Dog Girl. If she's nice." He refused to let himself look at Buck when he made the suggestion, afraid that if he saw so much as one tear fall, he'd break and take back everything he'd just said.

_So much for my soothing jog. GOD, I wanna hit something!_

Eddie spent the rest of his day fighting a powerful urge to go to the gym and beat the hell out of a punching bag. Or a trainer. Whatever.

Five evenings later Buck was parked in front of the tv, mentally sifting through the details of a moderately interesting date with Dog Girl (Libby), when he heard the click/rattle of someone unlocking his door.

He leapt off the couch ready to yell something to the effect of 'what the hell' when Eddie burst in and swung the door shut behind him.

"Oh good, you're here," he breathed before simply throwing his arms around Buck's neck and kissing him as though they were lovers reunited in the aftermath of a long and terrible war. "Sorry for, for not, knocking, I-," Eddie apologized in rushed words between much needed kisses. "I was, af-afraid you, wouldn't let, me in."

Although shocked by the sudden quasi break in, Buck responded to this turn of events with enthusiasm and _intense _relief. _You came around, _he thought, drawing Eddie tight against him as they shuffled toward the couch. _You came around, thank GOD you came around!_

"I'll always let you in," Buck softly promised as he allowed Eddie to pull off his beat up old tshirt. "I will always, _always _let you in."

TO BE CONTINUED . . . .


	3. Erasing Pictures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We all knew this was gonna happen, right? Eddie freaks out.

"Aw, _dammit!" _Eddie groaned under his breath when he woke up.

_Well, you've done this. Now there's this to deal with. Great job, Diaz. _There he was, blinking at the back of Evan Buckley's sandy haired head and feeling like the worst person ever.

_Now you have to reject him. AGAIN._

_. . . do I though? _He wondered. _There is always the chance me and Buck could work out, right? It could happen. Then everything would be perfect._

And there was the problem. That stupid word.

'Perfect.'

Eddie was cautious about romantic entanglements in general, not only because of how much another breakup would hurt Christopher, but because of how much he _loved _the idea of giving his kid that 'perfect family.' A two parent home to grow up in, instead of the single parent who constantly struggled to maintain enough of a work/life balance to raise a healthy kid and not burn out.

_God, a partner would make things so much easier . . ._

So why not go for it with Buck, or at least _someone, _if he loved that idea so much?

Well, it was because he knew himself well enough to know his desire for that 'perfect life' could (and probably would) influence his feelings. If not outright _create them._

And: hello, problem.

He did love Buck, but the fact he refused to ignore was that _wanting Buck, _being _attracted _to Buck, might be rooted in how amazing it felt when they were out together with Christopher doing . . . family things. Seeing his kid so heart-bustingly happy.

_My kid is gonna grow up someday. He'll go off and have his own life . . ._

Which meant that if it wasn't really, truly, _truly Buck _Eddie had fallen in love with so much as the idea of realizing this 'perfect family' dream? . . . Well, then it was doomed.

Dreams fade.

_Some might last longer than others, sure, but they all fade, _he reminded himself constantly.

Especially a dream formed around something so unlikely as him and one of the (counting Buck) three men he'd ever been even a little bit attracted to falling in love and going the distance.

The odds weren't great.

_Three. _Eddie marveled, feeling a tad bitter. _Three dudes and a lifetime of girls, and here I am in bed with my best damn friend whose heart I now have to break! AGAIN!_

It all seemed to him like a joke with no punchline, compliments of a senseless and frustrating universe.

All he wanted to do was snuggle close and enjoy a few more seconds of 'perfect' before doing what he had to do, but resisting that impulse was key. Crutal, actually. He knew himself too well. He'd snuggle close, and those seconds would turn into minutes, then hours, then a series of even bigger mistakes than the pile of crap he'd already stepped in.

_Nope. Just get it over with._

He got out of bed, scooped up his clothes, put 'em on, then manned up and did what he had to do. Psst," he called out softly. "Hey . . . hey . . . Buck?"

The man sat up with a groan, rubbing his eyes.

And again all Eddie wanted to do was hop back in bed and soak up the morning. But he had Buck's feelings to think about, and Christopher's entire life-or at least the kid's sense of stability.

"Mooooooorning," Buck drawled with a long yawn while leaning forward to wrap his arms around his knees. "And how are y-" The sentence stopped cold in his throat, a quick anger freezing the words. He was too tragically practiced at reading his friend's mannerisms not to realize what was going on. "You have got to be _kidding me!"_

"I'm so sorry," Eddie whined with a pleading, insistent tone. "I am so _unbelievably sorry, _but everything I said last week is still true."

Buck leaned farther forward and ran his fingers through his hair while making a point of direct eye contact. "Yeah, well, you also just spent an entire night saying other things, Eddie. Really _graphic things!"_

"I know, I know, I know," Eddie groaned, hands covering his face. "And you have no idea how much I don't wanna do this, bu-"

"Then don't!" Buck interrupted, tossing away the covers and leaping out of bed while awkwardly pulling on boxers. "What the hell is wrong with you?!"

"SO MANY THINGS!" Eddie yelled in reply. "I am a _train wreck _of a man right now! Which, all other issues aside, makes this a really bad time for me to test out a new relationship."

"WE'RE! NOT! NEW!" the other man bellowed while simultaneously tugging on a tshirt.

Eddie sighed, exasperated but sympathetic to Buck's confusion. "As friends, no. But dating? . . ."

He explained it all in much better detail than he had at the dog park. The potential trap of a 'perfect dream,' his non-history with men, how it all added up to slim odds for them as a couple . . ."

Buck crossed his arms, taking several deep breaths to calm down.

"Please," Eddie warbled. _"Please, _Buck. Tell me you understand. Tell me I haven't already ruined everything. That we can get over this and you'll stay in my life?"

Buck knew without having to ask that by 'my life,' he meant, in large part, _Christopher's _life. He swallowed a huge lump in his throat and struggled to hold eye contact with Eddie. "Why . . . _the hell _did last night even happen?" He asked, croaking out each word as if the room was filling up with smoke. "And you didn't taste or smell like alcohol last night, so don't you _dare _blame being drunk!"

Eddie's eyes slid shamefully to the floor as he replied with a feeble shrug. "I just broke." A long pause stretched out between them before he spoke again. "If you can't be in my life anymore, I'll understand. I'll . . . I'll get Chris through it . . . if I have to. But I _really _don't want to."

Buck looked at the ceiling, trying and failing to blink back tears. "You get _one." _he said finally. Stern and certain. _"One _walkback. And . . . I can't see you outside of work for a while."

"Thank you," Eddie gasped, slumped over in sheer lightheaded relief. He knew better than to ask what 'a while' might be, so instead he settled for just hoping against all idiotic hope that it wouldn't be _too long. _"Thanks," he repeated, "and until then I'll . . . I'll make sure you get time with Christopher. I'll, um . . . have Carla bring him over here. Whenever."

"Great."

Eddie hated the quiet shudder of Buck's voice in that moment. All quiet and numb.

"You should leave now."

Eddie whispered a few more threadbare apologies, then left.

Buck did not walk him to the door.

There was no parting hug.

And it would be another three months before they were ever alone together again.

[ TO BE CONTINUED . . . ]


	4. Arguments and Pixies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie's timing sucks, Buck is annoyed, and soundtracks matter.

The whole group sat outside watching through the propped open door of Finnegan's Shanty as their newest Probie socialized with the other babies. Captain Naudet of ladder 212 was retiring, and his send-off party had swallowed up most of the bar. A pub so deeply committed to all things Irish that it bordered on kitsch.

"I have a good feeling about this one," Bobby said with an approving nod. "Kid does the scut work and doesn't bitch. That's important."

"Mmhm," Hen agreed. "It is a plus. Gotta say though, for such a white guy he is a very, _very _black cloud."

Black Clouds and White Clouds. A longstanding superstition amongst firefighters regarding new Probies.

Get a White Cloud assigned to your ladder and everything for miles around is suddenly inflammable. Black Clouds? Exact opposite. And ever since Probie Jeffords' first day on the job, it kinda seemed like the whole city was _trying _to light itself on fire or find some kind of path to chaos.

They all agreed with Hen's assessment of the guy, cracking jokes about him possibly posting 'man seeks arsonist' ads on craigslist or something.

While Buck certainly didn't want to see civilian lives put at risk in whatever manner of crisis, on a selfish level he was glad for all the activity. Out on a call? That's when things between him and Eddie were easiest. The most un-forced.

So with Probie Jeffords' Black Cloud magic keeping them mostly blanketed in a familiar routine Buck was more and more convinced that he and his best friend could be pretty much over the whole 'we almost happened' thing before they knew it.

Maybe even able to go do stuff with Christopher again, just the three of them. Like before.

_Just like before. _He thought, glancing across the table at Eddie as the other man popped another tater tot in his mouth.

"Tater tots," the man mused happily, chewing the salty fried morsel. "Hashbrowns in pill form."

"Never thought of them that way," said Chim with an amused grin, picking up a tot of his own. "You are greasy, starchy, and generally bad for me. My new favorite pill."

They all went on chatting about this and that, always looping back around to the heroic highlights of Captain Naudet's impressive career.

Bobby knew the guy personally from years back, and they'd always gotten along. "Actually," he said, rising from the table. "I think I'll go introduce Jeffords around to some of the old guard. Let the kid hear some super cool stories first hand."

As the night wore on everyone broke their own way, mingling amongst the first responder ranks of their sprawling city.

Buck ended up sitting on the top step of Finnegan's back deck, idly gazing out at the lack of view.

It was an uncommonly chilly night, so there were only a few other patrons outside braving the cold (or what passed for cold in LA). Just him perched on the stairs, and a table of four way on the other side of the deck. Which left him in a bubble of privacy.

He was making slow work of his beer when someone sat down next to him. _Eddie. _He could see the man out of the corner of his eye. _Look at us, just hangin' out. All casual and unchaperoned._

"Nice night," his friend said.

"Mmhm," Buck replied with a nod, clinking his beer bottle against Eddie's.

"Christopher says you mentioned maybe going to the zoo on your next playdate."

"Yeah." Again Buck nodded. "He's been drawing wild animals a lot lately, especially giraffes for some reason. Thought maybe he'd like to see a few in person."

"He'll like that."

"Hope so."

"Take lots of pictures, okay?"

Buck smiled and turned to face his friend, ready to insist that _of course _he'd take pictures, but what he saw looking back at him made his heart sink.

Shiny brown puppy-eyes. The very _puppiest _of puppy-eyes.

"Really, Eddie?" Buck groaned. "You gotta give me that look _now? _Things with us were almost back to normal!"

Eddie leaned away and spent all of a second pretending he had no idea why Buck was so annoyed before reality's ugly claws dragged him into the bog of a possible mistake. "Back to normal," he mumbled, posture sagging as his gaze shifted to the half empty bottle in his hands. "Right. Maybe for you. I spend every long-ass work day faking it so hard it feels like I'm gonna . . . I dunno, shatter or something."

Buck sat silently, wondering how to best handle the situation. Let the man keep talking versus shut it down and change the damn subject. Or walk away.

"It's endless," his friend continued wearily. "I go to work, plaster on a smile, and worry that I mightslip up and accidentally act the way I feel. For just, like . . . a second_._ And you'd see, and then . . ." he shook his head with a self-deprecating chuckle. "And the stupid thing is it's all my fault. This whoooooole situation. All me."

"Um . . yeah, I have no counterpoint," Buck shot back, feeling far less sympathetic toward Eddie than a friend probably ought to. "It didn't have to be like this."

"Right." Eddie stared at his beer and thumbed at the label until it started to peel. "I know. And you'd think it'd be easier when I'm not around you, but nope."

"Oh no? How's that?"

Eddie shrugged. "All this damn effort to get over us, and I still fail _every day? . . ." _He discarded a strip of peeled-off label and tossed it aside. "I'm constantly worn out, and frustrated, and just straight up _miserable_, and I end up taking it out on the one person can't get away from me."

Buck's heart froze. "Eddie, you're not-"

"I would _never _hit my kid!" the man instantly clarified. "But I'm . . . not a nice dad. At all."He paused, forcing himself through the shame to keep talking. "Buck, I'm yelling at him over any stupid little thing. Seriously, he does the slightest thing wrong, and just like _that!"_ He snapped his fingers. "I yell, and glare, and I . . . I'm just_ mean." _The puppy-eyed expression returned, this time edged with something beyond regret. More like like grief. "A few days ago I even threw one of his toys across the room."

"Did it break?" Buck wasn't really sure why he asked the question, considering how little it mattered.

"Nah." Eddie shook his head. "But things can't keep going like this, Buck. I wanna stop waking up every day knowing I was dumb enough to shut down something I really, _really _wanted-"

"Dude-" Buck tried to interrupt, to no avail.

"-and awful enough to treat my kid like crap just 'cause _I'm _going through something."

"You can't-this is-" Buck floundered for words, "I just . . . _dammit _Eddie!"

"None of this should've happened," Eddie sighed mournfully. "These last . . . Jesus, however many months, I've lost track. It all shoulda been different-"

"Again, no counterpoint." Buck's, jaw muscles twitched with barely contained annoyance.

"I can't go back and change it, Buck. But-hey, could you look at me?" Eddie waited for Buck to face him directly before going on. "Is it . . . is it too late for a do over?"

"Are you _serious?" _Buck rolled his eyes and rose from the step, easily hopping down the remaining three. "So, let's see if I track this correctly. First you're a hard no, then _the same damn week _you're a bigass yes, then you want a walkback, and _now _you're seriously asking for a do over?!"

Eddie responded with a tiny, helpless nod yes.

"Unreal." Buck shook his head. "You are _unreal!"_

"I know," Eddie confirmed in an almost whining tone. "And I'm sorry, I'm sorry for the crap timing here, I really didn't mean to have this talk right, y'know, _now,_ but . . . well, done is done. And I mean it, Buck, if it's not too late," he raked a hand through his hair, fully realizing that it was too late to backpedal. That his best (only) option was to toss the dice and go for broke. "Christopher's staying the night at a friend's house, so you, y'know, you could . . ."

"Ed-"

"Come home with me."

Buck's jaw clenched even tighter as he stared straight ahead, breathing heavily and pointedly _not _looking at Eddie. "Say I do that. Say we leave together. Right now." It was then that he locked onto the other man's eyes as if he meant to reduce them to nothing but burnt out cinders. "How do I know I won't get dropped on my ass first thing tomorrow?"

"You wouldn't," Eddie replied, his voice almost inaudible.

Buck looked neither impressed nor convinced.

"You won't!" Eddie insisted again, scrambling to come up with an argument or promise that might win the day. Make things right. "I love you." A deeply weak argument under the circumstances, he realized, but it was all he had to stand on.

Buck scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah well, problem is, that was true three months ago and I still got dropped on my ass!"

"Buck-"

"It took me weeks to even _start _getting over that morning! It _sucked!"_

Eddie opened his mouth to speak, but Buck cut him off.

"But guess what?" He didn't wait for a response. "It did start to hurt less, and until about five seconds ago I thought we were doing okay!"

By that point their semi-argument had chased the huddled table of four at the far corner of the patio back into the bar.

"Should I not have come out here?" Eddie asked. "Should I have just stayed inside and let you . . ." a pained cringe consumed his features. "No! No, screw that, I know I messed up, big time, but c'mon, you can't _really _wanna move on, Buck! Right? Given the choice?"

"Man, I honestly can't tell right now, I'm too pissed off!"

"Okay," Eddie nodded, set down his drink, and stood up. "That's fair. So then . . . how about this: I go home, you stay here, socialize, clear your head, and maybe . . . think about it-about everything? Text me later?"

Buck drew and released a long, slow breath as he pondered the question. "You'reserious about this? Like you're absolutely _sure?"_

"Beyond sure," Eddie promised.

Several more deep breaths. And Buck decided. "Fine. You leave. I'll think. And . . . if I decide to come over, I'll text you."

Eddie settled his tab and left immediately. Three hours later he was pretending to give a damn about some medical drama on tv when his phone finally buzzed. He snatched it off the coffee table, then paused for a moment and braced himself to be smacked in the face with a firm 'go to hell' text.

'Still awake?' was the message.

'YES' Eddie typed and sent so fast it ended up 'YRS.' He typed and sent again, this time achieving 'YS.'

"Just come over!" He bellowed at the phone, chuckling when he received a laughing emoji in reply. Followed by:

'Be there in a bit. Or 70 million hours depending on traffic.'

'K.'

Eddie set down the phone, then picked it up again, figuring he'd play some stupid 'pop the bubble' type game for distraction.

Within ten minutes he was peeking out the window every time a car drove by, none pulling into his driveway.

_This is LA, _he reminded himself, _no one gets anywhere in ten minutes without sirens. _The fact wasn't enough to keep him away from the window. _You're sad, _he told himself while pacing back and forth. _You're a sad, pitiful man._

Finally he saw headlights slowing down as they got closer to his place.

_Please be Buck._

For what seemed like the first time in several months, Eddie got his wish. He was out the door and sprinting toward the car before Buck even had time to get both feet on the ground.

_Can we skip talking? _Eddie hoped. _We've done talking. _Again, wish granted. Reaching arms wrapped around his midsection and Eddie let himself be spun around so he was pressed against the back driver's side door.

"You screw this up and I'm moving to Alaska," Buck breathed between happy kisses.

"Uh-huh," Eddie replied as he clutched at and pet the other man's arms, shoulders, face-anything he could touch, really.

"Seriously, you will never see me again."

"Understood."

The driver's side door was still wide open, and as things between them calmed to more of a sweet ongoing _nuzzle _Eddie was able to spare enough attention to recognize a song emanating from the vehicle's speakers. 'Here Comes Your Man' by the Pixies.

_Good timing, Spotify, _he thought.

"We should take Chris to the zoo together," Buck purred against his throat.

"Mmhm," Eddie replied. "I miss the three of us."

Neither of them gave a damn about the cold night air as Spotify went on providing soundtrack.

As the last upbeat notes of 'Here Comes Your Man' faded out and another weirdly appropriate-to-their-situation song started up, Eddie had a thought.

"Ummmmmm . . . Buck?" He let the other man kiss him before continuing the question. "Did uh . . . did you make a _playlist _for us?"

Buck stepped back, stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, and toed the ground, looking around bashfully.

"HA!" Eddie slapped the car door as if giving it a low-five. "That is awesome!"

"Piss off, dude."

"No really, it's great! No one's ever made me a _mix tape! _I love this."

"_Playlist." _Buck corrected with a fascecious scowl. "Different thing. Mix tapes take time and effort, this is just scrolling and clicking, so don't get too excited."

"Same thought process though," Eddie pointed out, still chuckling. "I mean, you gotta really _think _about your choices."

"Oh, I thought!" said Buck, wagging his finger in the general direction of his phone still perched in its holder. "Scrolled and thought, and scrolled and thought, it's how I calmed the hell down-and just so you know, this started out life as a _much different _playlist. Super cranky. I selected and deleted _a lot."_

"Oh yeah?" Eddie asked with a playful smirk as Buck returned to their previous pose, leaning against the car.

"Yeah," Buck grinned. "Then it got pouty, then nostalgic, then I stumbled into the Beatles 'We Can Work It Out' aaaaaannnnnnnd . . ."

Eddie's entire brain was swimming in pure ego centric delight. "Deleted all the cranky?"

"It was The Pixies that cinched it," said Buck with a surrendered, weightless shrug. "That's when gave the hell up and texted you."

"Thank you, Pixies," Eddie breathed with a broad smile. He never thought he'd be so grateful for the existence of a _song._

"The Pixies rule." Buck echoed, mirroring the other man's _disgustingly _happy smile.

The next morning Eddie poured two cups of coffee and shuffled back to his room, all the while humming 'Here Comes Your Man' under his breath.

THE END.


	5. Tricks and Slips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet morning after. Buck has some fun at Eddie's expense. A daytrip with Christopher. General good times.

Buck was sitting up, leaning against the pillow arranged behind him when Eddie re-entered the room. He had the blankets on Eddie's side of the bed drawn back and pillow propped against the wall next to his so the other man could easily slide back in and resume their lazy do-nothing morning.

Eddie carefully handed one of the mugs to Buck and sat down next to him. "I hope it's good," He said through a long yawn. "Sorry it's three months late."

"If it tastes good enough, I'll let it slide." Buck took a cautious sip of coffee as Eddie settled into place, pulling the blankets over his legs and arranging himself just so.

"And . . . ?" Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Do I get a pass?"

The other man pretended to ponder the question for a moment before breaking into an impish smile. "What three months?"

Eddie chuckled through a series of light kisses before taking a sip of his own beverage. "Not bad," he decided. "Not my best, but not bad. So . . . we're agreed, then? We _are_ officially doing this?"

"Obviously." Buck rolled his eyes. "But you're cute when you ask dumb questions, so by all means-"

"Oh, shoot, I almost forgot!" Eddie sucked in a sharp breath, tensed and bracing himself for an annoyed Buck. "I do have one condition."

"You're _exhausting!"_

"Sorry," Eddie shrugged helplessly. "But I still have my kid to consider, and do I need to think about how it'll affect him if we don't work out in the long run." He paused in case Buck had something to say, but was met with only silence. "Okay. So. Here's the condition," Eddie cleared his throat. "We don't tell him we're dating right away. Not until we've been together for a while. Y'know, like . . . we're really _established _as a couple."

Buck leaned back, examining the look on his friend and/or boyfriend's face with a mix of concern and uncertainty.

Eddie went on explaining his logic. "The thing is, Shannon and I were like . . . _wildly _in love when we got married. We were solid, and I mean _solid _as a couple. But at the end of the day . . ." He couldn't think of a quick way to encapsulate everything that had gone wrong in his marriage. "Things got messed up. We both messed up. But right up 'til the day she died I kept hoping we could make it work, maybe, someday down the road. And I just . . ." again he paused, keenly aware he couldn't afford anything less than a perfect choice of words at that moment. "I can't tell Chrisopher we're together until I'm _certain_-or at least reasonably sure-that I won't have to sit him down for a 'why Daddy and Buck broke up' conversation someday."

"Okaaaaaay . . ." Buck drew out the word. He wasn't exactly thrilled with Eddie's lingering hesitation, but from a dad's point of view it did make sense. "Can I add a caveat?"

Eddie nodded yes.

"You get to decide when and how Chris finds out if _I_ get to decide the same thing for our friends."

"Sure. But . . . why?" A crease appeared on Eddie's forehead. "They won't even care, so isn't a bunch of covert sneaking around and hiding just a pointless annoying waste of-" he stopped himself mid sentence. "Annoying me _is_ the point, isn't it?"

"Three months!" Buck held up three fingers, his voice stern and resolute. "Three freakin' months I spent trying-really _working-_to get over what happened so we could be back to _normal," _he enunciated the word with air-quotes, "and move on, and I did all that for what turns out to be no reason at all!"

"Okay, deal." Eddie agreed to Buck's terms with no more hesitation or counterargument. "Annoy me."

"Great." Buck responded with a smart nod, and the two shared a business-like handshake before resuming their morning coffee-and-snuggle.

Buck slid down the mattress a bit and nestled himself against Eddie. "I think I'll come up with, like . . . a super huge spectacle," he mused. "Yeah. Make the whole thing one heeeeeeell of an announcement." He craned his neck to smirk up at Eddie. "Loud. _Gaudy."_

"Oh _god," _Eddie let out a long groan. "Please tell me it won't be in someplace public. Or involve an actual bullhorn. Or microphone. Or any kind of rainbow theme."

"I make no promises." The other man grinned.

Eddie was on the verge of trying to bargain Buck down to something only mildly embarrassing when he reminded himself how lucky he was that the guy had even _considered _giving him another chance in the first place.

_He's here. He's in your freakin' BED! _Eddie thought._ You put him through so much, who the hell cares if he wants a little payback?_

And thus Eddie Diaz accepted the next weeks of his life. Each day plagued by waking nightmares of what Buck might have planned. How ridiculous? How cringey?

The only thing that made it worthwhile was, as it turned out, sneaking around was kinda fun. A little thrill. A stealthy thing all their own.

Of course he realized that not long ago this sort of secrecy wouldn't have been an amusing, flippant, 'just for funzies' thing, but a necessary tool of survival.

But a lot of people-big damn heroes as far as he was concerned-had worked really hard to provide a different situation for himself and Buck. One where their intentional secrecy could just be a light, mischievous game.

And Eddie would have to wait a full five weeks for that game to end.

It happened on a mundane night while the gang was gathered at Bobby and Athena's place for dinner. Eddie was mid gulp on a beer when Buck announced with a total lack of ceremony: "Oh by the way guys, I've been sleeping with Eddie for weeks."

Eddie doubled over, red faced and coughing as cold, fizzy liquid invaded his sinuses. "Alc-alcohol!" he sputtered. "Carbonated alcohol! It's in my brain!"

"YES!" Buck flung back in his chair with a victorious clap, genuinely trying not to laugh _too hard _at Eddie's suffering. " That was _glorious. _Now we're even!"

"Huh," Chim clinked his glass against Maddie's. _"Actual _boy-crush. You were right."

"Y'okay?" Bobby chuckled, reaching out to give Eddie's shoulder a teasing shake. "Gonna live?"

"Seriously, Buck?" Eddie wheezed, his composure still in no hurry to return.

"Sorry," Buck shrugged. "But oooooooooh _man_ that was perfect!"

"I thought the idea was some kind of ridiculous production, Buck! I had literal nightmares!"

"I know!" Buck giggled, then addressed the whole group. "I've had him _convinced _for weeks that I was gonna make him march through the station in like a full-on freakin' pride shirt shouting 'I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!"

"So . . . wait, that kinda thing was never the real plan?" Eddie asked as the last of his beer-choked cough subsided.

"Nope." Buck shook his head. "It was aaaaaaaalllllllllll about watching you squirm. It's been fun."

Hen, meanwhile, sat with a frown on her usually serene face, deep in thought. "How did I not spot this?" She asked, indicating the two men. "I'm gay, I'm supposed to be able to _smell _other gay!"

"Bi," Buck and Eddie said in unison.

"Semantics!" the woman shot back.

"If it makes you feel better, I had no idea either," Bobby assured her.

"Oh _great," _Hen cringed. "I have the relative awareness of a straight white man!"

Bobby gave her a soft smile and sympathetic pat on the back before returning his attention to the new(ish) couple. "So it's going good, I take it?"

Eddie nodded. "Really good."

"Uh-huh," Buck echoed.

"We haven't told Christopher yet, though," Eddie continued. "I mean, we are doing awesome, I just wanna be really careful about bringing big changes into his life." He stopped and broke out in a huge smile. "But when we _do _tell him-"

"Oh, he'll be _thrilled," _Bobby assured them both with the confidence of a man who could see the future. "Everyone knows how much that kid loves his Buck!"

"Oh my god!" Maddie let out a high pitched squeal, clapping softly and wiggling with excitement. "If you two get married I'll be his Aunt!"

"Slow down, Big Sister!" Buck insisted. "Eddie and I aren't even thinking about that right now."

"Oooooooooh, and you can adopt, too!" The woman crooned, more to tease her brother than anything else. "I vote girl! Adopt a girl! And can I be your Maid of Honor?!"

"Will you shut up?" Buck whined, then turned to Chimney. "Can _you_ shut her up?"

"You vastly overestimate my power here, friend," was Chim's shrugging response.

Not long after that night, Eddie noticed his son had transitioned from drawing giraffes and tigers to sharks and sea lions, so he and Buck decided to surprise the kid with a weekend trip to a research and rehabilitation aquarium that had just recently opened up to the public.

It was about a 90 minute drive to get there, and the whole time Christopher could barely contain his excitement. Hence the question 'how much longer?' was asked, by Eddie's estimation, roughly a thousand times.

"I don't think he's ever moved this fast in his life!" He whispered in Buck's ear while the kid charged ahead as fast as his legs and crutches could carry him.

Buck chuckled quietly. "If we're not careful he may outrun us."

The massive facility turned out to be a perfect blend of entertaining and educational.

Most of their marine animals, a wandering staff member explained, were rescued from illegal and/or abusive aquariums (or ultra-rich private owners) all over the world.

Of those rescued, some could be taught to survive in the wild and released. The rest were kept in environments designed by marine biologists and other experts to replicate, as close as possible, the animal's natural habitat.

Christopher focused mostly on the happy fact that there were so many smart people dedicated to rehab and rescue.

But for the adults in the room, it was hard not to get angry while reading some of the informational plaques peppered throughout the aquarium.

One wealthy jackass had even kept a dolphin by itself in an environment hardly bigger than a backyard swimming pool, and after the raid-and-rescue it took nearly a year to get the poor thing healthy again and teach it to socialize with other dolphins.

Christopher went on observing and learning various (less depressing) facts about each animal and habitat, and Eddie was pretty sure his kid could spend weeks there. Just staring and commenting. Asking staff members a million questions.

_We'll have to visit this place again, _Eddie promised himself.

"Y'know, up this close their faces look just like dogs!" Buck observed when a seal pup swam close to the glass. "I didn't know that. Look Chris!" He pointed to one of the smaller seals as it swam in loops only inches away from the glass. "Water puppies, right?"

"Water puppies!" Christopher giggled. "Yeah."

As the two continued their animated chat Eddie stood back, taking it all in, so happy he could barely feel his feet on the ground.

Through one dark hallway was a habitat populated by jellyfish. Many of them bioluminescent, and most having damaged tentacles or even (and neither Buck nor Eddie knew this was a thing for jellyfish) nerve damage.

Sad origin stories, yes, but the colorful display did manage hypnotize all three of them.

"It's like . . . they're not even from earth . . . " Eddie whispered dreamily. "Or they came to life straight outta someone's imagination . . ."

"Yeeeeaaaaaaah," Buck litled the single word, barely aware of anything else as they went on staring at the strange, graceful creatures.

The next day at their favorite park, Christopher knelt on a picnic bench between the two men and tapped on his dad's shoulder. "Hey . . . hey dad . . . ?"

"What's up, little man?"

"When can My Buck move in with us?"

Buck and Eddie exchanged confused looks and Buck leaned closer, placing a gentle hand on Christopher's back. "Um, whaaaaaaat makes you think I'm moving in?"

"You held hands at the aquarium."

Eddie's eyes darted back and forth between Buck's and Christopher's, certain the kid was wrong. They'd been fastidious about maintaining a lack of any romantic-type PDA when he was around.

For the time being, at least, Eddie opted for gaslighting. "I, uh, I think you might be seeing things, pal."

"Nope," Chris chirped, shaking his head as he squirmed off the bench and gathered his crutches. "At the glowing jellyfish place. You held hands a few minutes. I think My Buck should move in someday."

Before either man could say anything, the boy walked off toward the play equipment.

Buck and Eddie remained seated.

Gaping at one another.

At a complete loss for words.

"Well," Eddie finally spoke up, "Christopher just blew up my timeline, so I guess that's done."

"Technically a bunch of glowing sea aliens blew up your timeline," said Buck with a tiny grin.

Eddie just chuckled and slid closer to him. With their whole reason for avoiding displays of affection having been obliterated, Buck decided to take things a step further, threading his fingers through Eddie's and resting their joined hands on the table.

The silence between them was relaxed and cozy for a long while, until Eddie broke it with what he felt was an important question:

"You _do_ know they're not actually aliens, right?"

Buck's only response was to give the man a playful shoulder bump.

They went on watching Christopher while a few of his usual park friends helped him to climb various structures. It could be quite a process at times, but through trial and error they'd collectively figured out ways of keeping Chris involved in all the fun.

There was the odd topple or bruise at times, of course-even a sprained wrist once.

But since his son considered it all worth the price of admission into Regular World, Eddie had long since trained himself to sit back and just let things happen.

At least where parenting was concerned.

In other areas 'just letting things happen' was not Eddie's strong suit.

_So how long should we wait before you move in? _He wondered, casting sidelong glances at Buck as he mulled over the question. _Anything less than a year is too soon, right? Yeah, we should wait at least a year. Maybe a year and a half. That's it, a year and half._

Eight months later he, Christopher, and Buck were wrapping Buck's plates and bowls in newspaper and packing them carefully into boxes.

On the side of each box Christopher scrawled in blue and green crayons: 'For Our New House.'

THE END.


End file.
